


Like a Road Through the Mountains

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Kissing, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, seriously so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be here, like this, with one another is everything they want - and it's terrifying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Road Through the Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> “What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains.” -- Tennessee Williams, “A Streetcar Named Desire”
> 
> If you know some things about me, you'll see glimpses of me in Jensen; sorry about that. Not intentional, nor the reason I wrote this, but it fit the story and they say "write what you know." I'm really not sure what Jensen's upbringing would've been like, or what the reaction would have been had he come out as a kid, but he did grow up in Texas, so I made some assumptions.
> 
> Many, many thanks to ilookatstars for being a fantastic beta - I'm still the new kid on the block in this fandom, and it's not easy to ask someone to beta my porn ;)
> 
> Misha speaks briefly in Russian; he never does tell Jensen exactly what he said, so translations are in the notes at the end.

It's not like his _other_ first time.

But then, there are all kinds of reasons for that.

At 17, he’d been suave and sweet and self-assured, and she'd been soft and pliable and beautiful; and, yeah, in their late teens in the swelter of a July night in Austin, the fact that they were a tangle of inexperienced sweaty limbs was completely logical. A boy and a girl, convinced by their hormones that they should mambo between the sheets… there's normalcy in that.

This time isn't that.

This time he’s shaking in terror and anticipation as he stands shirtless and barefoot in the dim light of his good friend’s apartment. This time he’s older, should be more confident in his skills, but he’s a fucking mess because everything he’s tried so hard to keep under wraps his entire life is being brought into the light. This time he’s terrified to touch for fear of doing it wrong, or fear of breaking down - he’s not sure which, or maybe it’s both.

That first time, his brain hadn’t been working.

This time it’s working too much.

Misha’s breath is coming out in shaky exhales against Jensen’s sweat-beaded skin; a struggle for control, Jensen knows, because each in their own way they can’t entirely process that they’re _here_ , like _this_ , even though they technically haven’t done anything yet. They’ve been stripped like this in each other’s presence a thousand times, but Jensen’s never felt so entirely laid bare.

“I’m just going to touch you. Fingers on skin. Nothing more. And you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. OK?”

Misha sounds just the right side of wrecked, and Jensen’s worse off - he doesn’t trust his voice, nor his eyes - so he keeps the lids closed and just nods into the palm that’s cradling his face on the right side. He’s aware of Misha’s other hand, which had been resting on Jensen’s right hip, the thumb tucked inside a single belt loop - but is now ghosting north, barely five fingertips, and then inward along his pectoral, coming to rest on his sternum.

He tries to inhale and a sob escapes unbidden. He still can’t open his eyes; he knows it’s Misha, and he trusts Misha, he has to, right now - but if their eyes meet, he’ll be done for.

“Shhh.” The thumb of Misha’s left hand, the one still cupping the side of his face, strokes lightly over stubbled skin. And then Misha’s tilting up and leaning Jensen’s head in and their foreheads are pressed together, and Jensen can feel the shaking of his own breath, and he can taste Misha’s.

“Scared, Mish.”

“I know.” The thumb of Misha’s left hand finds its way to Jensen’s bottom lip, and he ghosts just the pad of it over the chapped skin. Jensen can’t hold back a whimper, almost a whine, and he’s shaking even worse now. But Misha’s got him, both hands up to his shoulders and down his arms in tandem - slow, soothing. “Can you look at me?”

“No.” There’s wetness on his cheek, and it’s not from sweat.

“I’d really like to kiss you now. May I?”

He nods, still whimpering, but goes suddenly still and silent at the press of lips to lips. It’s not urgent or demanding, the way he always imagined Misha’s kisses would be - it’s hesitant. Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s going to break Jensen and well - it’s possible that’s a valid concern. But when Jensen doesn’t pull away, when he relaxes in Misha’s hold, the kiss becomes more confident and deeper and _there_ is the Misha Collins Jensen had always expected: passionate, possessive, and he wraps himself up in that, thinking maybe he can consume enough of Misha’s confidence to begin to feel it himself.

 

_“I just… he’s cute. When I look at him, I feel things. Not like he’s my friend, either… like… I’d want to kiss him.” There’s no response except a blank stare, and Jensen feels a horrible clenching in his gut. “Is… is that wrong?”_

_“Yes. Jensen, you don’t-- you don’t ever repeat that, understand? You’re going to date girls, and marry a girl, and you’re going to go about your life without ever saying anything like that ever again.”_

 

The memory is unwelcome but so emotionally charged that when it comes, his eyes snap open and he pulls back from Misha like he’s been burned, crying out unintelligibly into the space between their bodies.

A flicker of hurt flashes across Misha’s face before he takes in Jensen’s own pained expression and his guard drops back down. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s not-- never been you.” He takes a cautious step back toward the other man, back into his personal space. He thinks it might be better if he takes purchase of something, so rather than let Misha hold him, he reaches out instead, leaving a few inches between them, and lets the fingertips of his right hand map Misha’s chest, under a pectoral and down the sternum to his naval, mirroring the other man’s actions from minutes before. “Is this OK?”

“Fuck, J. It’s more than OK.”

That makes him smile just a bit, and he flattens his palm against Misha’s stomach, feeling the next shaky inhale as smouldering blue eyes hold his gaze. He dips his thumb into the naval, and Misha hisses and closes his eyes, which makes Jensen pull the thumb back - the fragility of the moment is palpable, as though the slightest misstep might cause it to break, and while there are a thousand doubts in Jensen’s mind, one thing he’s absolutely certain of is that he doesn’t want to mess this up.

***

_“_ Nu ti dayosh, _Misha. You’re going to scare him away.”_

_“He’s a grown man, Vicki, not a frightened animal.”_

_“Physically, yes, and even mentally under most circumstances, but not this time. Consider yourself, if you were having this conversation in Russia. Or Texas. Or any other conservative part of America, where even suggesting such things may lead to being shunned - or worse. Outside of Vancouver, your realities are very different.”_

_“Fuck._ B’lad _._ Eto piz`dets, _Vicki, now what? I can get past wanting to fuck him, for the sake of our friendship, if I have to. He’s my best friend. Above all, I’d like that to continue.”_

_She’s giggling at him then, and he finds himself smiling at the warmth of it, despite their topic of conversation. “You could always court him.”_

_Misha knows she’s continuing to laugh mostly because of his expression, probably just as grainy as she is over the Facetime feed, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s burying his head in his hands. “I suck at that.”_

_“Oh, come on. You hooked me with some suave lines back in the day; I’m sure you still have your mojo. Take him to dinner, split a bottle of wine, and lay your Russian accent on him. He’ll be putty in your hands.”_

 

The memory brings a warm flood of fresh endorphins to Misha’s brain and suddenly he’s the one who has to close his eyes and draw a shaky breath as he shudders under Jensen’s tentative touch. To finally be here, like this, with Jensen Ackles is nothing short of a miraculous dream come true. He’d all but shelved it as a mere fantasy until last month and now… well, it’s still a fantasy, technically, because at this rate they’ll be greying old men by the time he gets to the stuff he truly fantasizes about. But then, there’s something very, very right about the intimacy of this moment, something Misha can feel and taste, something that invades his mind and all his senses. And he thinks he might be content to die a thousand tiny deaths at Jensen’s hands this way, if it continues to feel _this good_.

He moans as Jensen pulls him into the circle of an embrace, and can’t resist going in to try the kiss again, but he has to hold himself back. The strength with which he wants to just throw Jensen up against the wall and crush him in kisses and bruising touches is substantial; Misha’s only regret in the moment is that he can’t give all his focus to this man, because if he does, he’s going to lose control on the tightly capped primal lust that’s knotting up his gut.

The result is trembling lips on lips, trembling hands on hips, so much caution that it’s _tender_ , and fuck, Misha can’t, he can’t. If Jensen pulls away again he’s going to lose the fragile grip he has on his control.

So he breaks the kiss, but doesn’t break the distance; he breathes into the space between them, “ _MIlaya Moyna_ Jensen. _Ti takAya krasIvaya_ . _Ti takAya nEzhnaya_.”

“ _Mishka…_ ”

Jensen sounds like he’s on the verge of tears again, but he’s not moving away, so Misha takes the smallest of chances and moves his kisses from the other man’s lips to the hollow of his collarbone. “ _Lublu, celuyu, obozhayu. Vobshem prosto obozhayu_.” Out of words, he lets his tongue venture out to lick and play in that same hollow, tasting the remnants of his own breath mixed with Jensen’s sweat.

He feels more than hears Jensen’s reply, a guttural moan, a sound that Misha knows well, that says his partner is about to melt, and he boldens just a bit, moving both hands to grip Jensen tightly at his hips and guide him a few backward-walking steps until he’s pinned against the apartment wall. He moves his kisses back up to Jensen’s mouth then, stealing tiny stuttered pleas and puffs of breath and swallowing them down as his hips roll forward to meet Jensen’s at the groin.

“What… what was all that?” Jensen manages to breathe out, bucking his hips up against Misha’s and, so help him, Misha pushes his co-star harder against the wall, takes a chance and pins his hands above his head and kisses him hard and deep like he’s wanted to for years. He can still feel Jensen shaking, but the tenor of movement has changed - less fear, more passion. He pulls back to look into the other man’s eyes for confirmation, and they’re half-hooded, which brings out the wolf in Misha. He can’t hold back anymore. He just can’t.

***

Jensen’s fully aware that Misha’s control has slipped, and they won’t be stopping or stalling or slowing down unless he pulls the trigger on that himself - and his heart and mind are at odds as to whether he should. God it _hurts_ in his chest, like there’s a couple of tiny armies going to war over his heart, pulling in opposite directions until there’s nothing left of Jensen Ackles but a puddle of fucking _feelings_ that conflict and kill him a thousand times.

 

_“Ugh! What the_ fuck _, Jensen? Fucking faggot! Get off me!”_

_“I-- I’m sorry.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and scrambles away from the other young man - probably six inches taller and insurmountably more muscular, and Jensen, underage and drunk as it is, doesn’t stand a chance in self-defense._

_But he can’t move fast enough either - two beers has him off-kilter and he feels the punch to his gut and then one to his left eye before the attacker gives him a chance to put his hands up._

_“I didn’t-- it’s just I thought we were--”_

_“We were hanging out at the bar. Nothing more. We were talking, like friends do. Christ. You get your homo up for all the guys, or am I some kind of faggot magnet?” When Jensen can’t manage a reply except to break down in tears in pain and fear and embarrassment, the other man throws his hands up in defeat. “Great. Crying. Like a fucking twink, huh? You want my cock up your ass, Jensen, is that it?”_

_“No… please, I just--”_

_“Go home, fag. Jerk off to your slutty twink fantasies, but leave me out of it. And don’t fucking try that again. Better yet, don’t ever show me your_ face _again, or I’ll mess you up real good, you got me?”_

 

The tears aren’t for Misha and they’re not for this moment but they come anyway. Misha stops cold in his passionate assault and pulls back to look at Jensen’s face and Jensen thinks, _fuck, I fucked it up, he’s gonna call it off because I’m a pussy and I’m crying and we haven’t even_ \--

But his mental onslaught is ceased by a forehead pressed against his own; by the drop of his arms in favor of a strong circle of support around his middle, pulling him close; by tiny angel kisses on his cheeks, and a hesitant tongue darting out to lick away tears.

“Hey. You still with me?” For all the fire and passion that had been building, now Misha’s concern radiates from him above everything else, like someone flipped a switch.

“I’m a mess.”

“You’re a _beautiful_ mess.” His eyes widen sincerely. “And I’m going to take care of you, you have my word.” _Like a fucking mind reader_ , Jensen thinks, and then he can’t think anymore because those gentle kisses are back on his cheeks, and then his jaw, and then down his neck and he’s hella gone because Misha finds the sweet spot just behind his right ear and Jensen’s hissing and bucking his hips up, and he feels it there - hardness that isn’t his.

“Shit. Fuck.” Eyes to the ceiling, offering up that vulnerable spot and Misha takes no prisoners in his assault, licking and sucking and nibbling at the skin and the lobe in front of it until there are no actual thoughts left in Jensen’s brain. He’s a bundle of nerves with a litany of _MishaMishaMishaMishaMisha_ as their center, and every single move the other man makes has them jumping up and down. “More,” he breathes, not sure where the thought came from because it sure as shit didn’t cross his processing center. “ _Please_.”

***

_More_ . It’s like his dream bubbling out of the fountain of Jensen’s beautiful lips and yes, he’ll give it, because there’s _so much more_ he wants to do - that he’s wanted to do for _years_ to the man writhing against him - he wants to take Jensen Ackles apart until he’s reduced to endorphin-drunk neural synapses and at the mercy of his nerve-endings and Misha…

But he’s not going to fuck this up. No. He’s put in too much effort, and he cares too much about this man and their relationship to kill it with a quick fuck.

He does, however, give Jensen the _more_ he’s pleading for, just a little - reaches between them with his right hand while using the left to again pin Jensen’s hands above his head, and opens Jensen’s belt and fly so he can reach inside.

It’s a fantasy he won’t have to wonder about anymore; even if they stop _right now_ , he finally knows the length and width and heat and feel of Jensen Ackles’ hardened dick. He brings their mouths back together, too, and it ignites a fire inside to realize that after nearly 30 minutes of fearful timidity, Jensen’s finally kissing him back with his entire being, tongue darting into Misha’s mouth experimentally at first, then going back for a slow sweep and at last a tango. He lets it go past breathlessness, takes in Jensen like he’s oxygen, until he’s dizzy and fuck, he can’t think straight, and that means trouble for them both.

 

_“Easy, Misha, easy. I'm with you, he’s handsome as hell, and yeah, you have my consent. But I'm far from the most important consenting party here.”_

_“You’re always important, Vick, you know that.”_

_She sighs, a little sadly, and settles more comfortably into his lap. “You know what makes me sad?”_

_“That I have to leave again tomorrow?”_

_“Well, there’s that.” She gives him a cursory peck on the lips before slipping back into her reverie. “But I meant the fact that you’re too wrapped up in your pining and plotting to recognize that I’m trying to turn you on.” He pulls back to give her a single raised eyebrow at that, and she chuckles, brushing the knuckles of her right hand over his bearded cheek. After a long while, she sighs. “I know you need to scratch that itch. But you go about it wrong and you stand to lose a whole lot, you know that.”_

_“I know.” He offers a resigned sigh and breaks eye contact, eyes going to her left hand, to her wedding ring. He gives the jewelry a little spinning twist with his left hand and grips her more securely in his lap with his left arm._

_"Have you spoken to Danneel?”_

_“He has.”_

_“And?”_

_“And she’s OK, yeah, she just uh. She says if I break him, she’ll kill me.” He laughs under his breath at that and starts stroking his wife’s fingers with his own, pulling her close for a kiss. “And asked that we keep it around third base. Crossing home plate is… she’d want to be there for that.”_

_“I wouldn’t miss it either.” She gets a little wistful and turns her head. “Can you imagine them… His head in her lap while you work him open, her fingers playing with those little nipples? Me sucking him off while you fuck him?”_

_It’s the only encouragement Misha needs; he’s pouncing his wife then, a lion with his prey, both of them fueled by fantasies they crave to chase into reality._

 

“OK, J, easy.” Jensen’s humping his hand, and the reality of how close he must be pulls Misha sharply back to the present. He lets up his grip and Jensen falls apart, a moaning mess, and it makes Misha smile darkly because, fuck, he didn’t think he’d get this far in just one night. “Come here.” He offers a couple of strong arms for support and guides Jensen to the bedroom where, at the very least, they’ll both be more comfortable for a mutual masturbatory session. Jensen’s eyes go wide at the change of venue, and his eyes dart from Misha to the bed and back to Misha - and then he’s pushing Misha back onto the bed and attacking his mouth, his neck, down to his nipples - whatever he can get his mouth on in a hurry.

“J. J. _Jensen_!” Fearing he’ll push further than either of them wants - further than they have permission to, really - Misha grabs Jensen firmly by the shoulders and rolls their bodies harshly to the left, so that he’s sitting squarely on top of a completely wrecked Jensen Ackles.

“Wow.” It comes out in a breath before he can stop it because, honestly, _wow_ \- the sight before him would break most anyone. “Jensen, listen. You need to get a grip on--”

Hips buck up sharply and there’s a growl from the other man that cuts Misha off. “ _You_ need to get a grip,” he grits out, “on my _cock_. Like you were doing. Like. Fuck.”

“You’re right on the edge. You know that. I know that. That’s fine, if you wanna end it like this, I’ll jerk you off and we’ll call it good. Or I can do some other things for you, and if you want, you can do some things for me, and we can string this out a little longer. I’ve been dreaming of this a long time, Jen, and we both have late calls tomorrow. You sure you want to rush?”

***

Jensen can’t fucking think. Misha wants him to think, and he can’t think, and that’s Misha’s _fault_ , and it’s a circle of stupid logic that makes him frustrated and angry and needy all at once. Something had snapped inside him while he was kissing Misha - something about the taste and smell and feel of pure _man_ , and pure _Misha_ , and now all he knows how to do is _need_ . And the worst part about that is, if asked exactly _what_ he needs, he really has no idea.

There’s one thing he’s certain of, however. Misha is wearing too much pants. Actually, they’re both wearing too much pants, and he starts wriggling under Misha’s weight. “Pants,” he whines, and there’s a smile and crinkle of bright blue eyes above him, followed by a soft, sweet kiss to his lips - like Misha had been doing before, to calm him, when Jensen’s mind couldn’t stop thinking. Well. Now it’s stopped. But his heart is racing like a motherfucking high-speed train.

Misha stands and unbuckles his own belt, pops the button on his own jeans, lowers the zipper one agonizing tooth at a time; the smirk on his face says he’s teasing, and Jensen hates it and loves it and wants to kiss it away. Then the jeans and boxers are on the floor and there’s Misha, in all his glory, arms held out to either side as if he’s expecting judgement. Right, like Jensen is fit to judge anything right now.

Jensen’s pants are gone without ceremony and then Misha’s weight is on him, full-body, their cocks pressed together in the center of their tangle of limbs, both of them breathing in short puffs of hot air into the same inch of space between their faces.

Misha’s kisses - they’re dosed with something powerful, Jensen’s sure of it, because he’s become addicted in the span of 15 minutes. He accepts every press of Misha’s lips, every touch of his hands, every sweep of his tongue and then--

Oh. Fuck.

He’d thought about penetration, really he had, but he’d never imagined it to feel this good. _That’s the Misha drug again_ , he thinks, and he mewls and squirms as Misha’s single digit probes at his opening.

“What have you done to me?” He manages, and yeah, it’s barely a whimper but he’s way past caring what his voice sounds like right now.

Misha just chuckles in the back of his throat and traces Jensen’s rim with that one finger, agonizingly slow, insurmountably gentle. “I think,” he ponders, eyebrows raising, “I’ve set you free.”

The finger probes again, penetrating barely a millimeter, and Jensen can only manage a grip of the sheets and a strangled moan in reply.

 

_“How’s the new guy?”_

_“He’s a dick.”_

_Danneel seems completely nonplussed by her fiance’s comment.  She sighs regretfully in her Danneel way, the way that makes him feel like she wants to lecture him about how he should_ give people a chance _and_ not be so judgmental _or whatever, but she’s known him long enough to know he’s cautious. Hell - he’d only just managed to pop the question last week, and they’d been dating for 10 years. So she doesn’t say what he knows she’s thinking; instead she asks, “What’s Jared think?”_

_“Prank war’s already started.”_

_A pointed “mmhmm” at that, and then she laughs, and the sound is like heaven - huh. Heaven. The irony. “He’s just so… cocky. Self-assured. Plus his name’s Misha. I mean, honestly, what the hell kind of name is_ Misha _?”_

_“Not sure,_ Jensen _.” She stresses his name and raises her eyebrows pointedly again and this time it gets under his skin._

_“Stop doing that, D.”_

_“Doing what?”_

_“Well, the feigned innocence for one. And stop sighing at me like I’m some kind of child. I don’t like the guy, OK? He’s a dick and I’m glad we only have to do this for a couple of seasons, and then whatever.”_

_“He’s hot as fuck.”_

_Her comment pulls the floor out from under him - eyes wide, and he has no quick comeback because he realizes in the following seconds that she’s right. He’s hot. He’s more than hot - he radiates self-confidence and oozes sex appeal and those eyes are just so impossibly blue that Jensen has to play close to the vest on set or he’s going to get lost in those eyes and forget his lines. He_ can’t _pal around with Misha, has to be the consummate professional, because one wrong casual touch and he’s going to pop a boner like some kind of horny teenager. And he’s been there, done that, bought the T-shirt - it’s not something he wants to do again. He hates Misha because Misha lights a fire in his gut that he’s expended years of energy stomping out. Misha makes him want things. Bad things. Sinful, horrible, awful, wonderful things. All he says is, “Yeah,” but it’s enough._ She knows him _enough. He might as well have made a fucking speech._

_“You think so too.” It’s barely a whisper, and Jensen’s crying and clutching his phone to his ear, and he raises his eyes, looking for answers that aren’t written on the ceiling._ God _, it’s been a good run with her. She’s everything he wants in a partner, really, and he had it so good, had his life planned out, had been so careful, and now it’s going to be over. Just like that. He’s going to lose her--_

_“Jensen. It’s_ OK _.”_

_He can’t process her words enough to digest them; his gut’s still tied up in knots. “God, Dani, I’m so sorry. You-- you deserve better than me, I’m so--”_

_“So you’ve got a thing for dudes. So what? You think in the past 10 years I haven’t noticed the way your eyes wander every now and then?” She giggles. “I think it’s cute. So let’s dish about Misha Collins._ Those eyes _, Baby. How do you stare into those eyes and not keel over?”_

_It’s the most wonderful whiplash. Jensen’s gut is still a tangle of nerves, but there’s butterflies in there now too - fluttering their little wings and fussing over the knots, slowly working them away and replacing them with a new feeling. “I’m scared to death.”_

_“You should talk to him. Like. Just talk. About dude stuff, I don’t know. Get to know him. Over drinks. With your pants off.” She’s giggling again, and then laughing, and the sound dissipates whatever tension was still built up in his gut._

_“You’ll be the death of me, I swear.” There’s a knock at his trailer door and he turns, phone still pressed to his ear, to see Jared waving him out. “Much as I’d love to gossip over Mr. McDreamy, I gotta go actually work so…”_

_“Hey.”_

_“Hmmm?”_

_“I love you.”_

_“Love you too, Baby. Lots and lots.”_

 

“What are you smiling at?” Misha hasn’t stopped doing those wonderful things with his fingers, but he has pulled his face back a bit and is studying Jensen, looking bemused, and that makes Jensen relax and smile as well.

“Just thinking… about… the day I told Danneel about you.”

“Hmmm… yeah?” Misha smiles, too, at the memory of those early days. “I was pretty sure you hated me.”

“I _wanted_ you. I wasn’t sure I was allowed to want you.”

“You were afraid of me. Of your feelings for me. I get it, J.”

“I’ve been afraid my whole life.”

“And now?” It comes out quietly against Jensen’s lips between kisses. “Do I scare you now? Here, like this?”

“I uh. Just-- just don’t let me go.”

The finger pushes in further and his smile falls away, a groan spilling from his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Misha comes in for another kiss, and it’s bruisingly harsh, as though he’s doing everything he can to ground Jensen in the moment. When he breaks the kiss, he starts exploring further down Jensen’s body with his mouth; along the learned path of his jaw, nipping at the erogenous zone he’d discovered behind Jensen’s ear before going south in search of other spots like that. He finds them, one by one: under the ridge of the right clavicle; both nipples, when they’re pulled with teeth; the path under his ribs and up into the hollow at the bottom of the sternum, traced with a tongue; into the navel; nips at the hip bones, especially on the left; and then the insides of the thighs, just barely left and right of center. Just shy of the goal. Piece by agonizing piece Jensen comes apart, squirming at the mercy of Misha’s mouth on his body and Misha’s finger in his ass. At the mercy of _Misha_ , really. All of Misha, disassembling all of Jensen. By the time the warmth of Misha’s mouth engulfs his aching erection, there’s nothing left of Jensen. He could cry, and it wouldn’t be enough to express what he feels in the moment. “Misha,” he gasps, arching his back, thrusting his hips, reaching down to grip Misha’s hair, shoulders, anything, “Misha!”

There’s a hum around his cock, and he’s done for.

***

Misha's a bit surprised at the sudden flood of salty cum into his mouth, and he thinks as he opens his throat to swallow, _OK, Jensen's orgasms don't have a warning signal. Noted._ But when he looks up at Jensen, he can't bring himself to give a damn. He’s even more beautiful when he’s spent; how that's possible, Misha can't rightly say.

He pulls back up Jensen’s body until they’re face to face and starts kissing him again, lazily this time, with the familiarity of a long-time lover rather than a fresh-made one. And it warms his insides to a gooey mess to realize how relaxed Jensen is now, in comparison to their first tentative explorations - even in comparison to earlier this same evening.

 

_“Baaahaha! Bullshit, Collins. Bullshit! You cannot sit there with a straight face and tell me you’ve never watched porn with another dude.”_

_Misha just shrugs and gives his most innocent half-smile. “What can I say? There are some things I have yet to cross off my bucket list.” He picks up his amber beer bottle by the neck and sips, hoping no one else catches the way Jensen’s staring at him as he completes the motion. Not for his own sake - Misha knows he’s killing this game of Never Have I Ever - but it’s a crowded hotel suite and most of the people present have no idea about Misha and Jensen’s extracurricular… well. He supposes they haven’t really_ done _anything yet. He chances a wink across Felicia and Rich on the couch, aiming it at Jensen, who’s seated on the far end. Part of him wishes he could cuddle up right next to Jensen, but given the amount of alcohol being consumed, it’s probably a really good idea they’re separated._

_But fuck if his heart doesn’t flutter when the wink is returned._

_“OK, all right, settle,” Jared insists, banging his fist against the coffee table he’s currently seated on the floor in front of. He rubs his palms together in thought, then says, “Never… have I ever… hmmm.” It comes out in a rush. “Never have I ever fantasized about fucking anyone in this room.”_

_Misha’s too drunk to hide his surprise. His eyes go wide, and as for Jensen, he’s choking on a drink of his beer on the far end of the couch._

_That’s their lifesaver, really, because everyone’s attention goes to Jensen’s well-being and the question is lost; it’s hard to say if everyone drank, or anyone at all._

_“Woah, J. You OK?” Jared laughs as he gets an affirmative nod from his friend. “Arms up, buddy, arms up!”_

_“I’m uh.” Jensen coughs a few more times and bangs his fist against his chest, nodding. “I’m good. I’m tapped, though. Anybody else want a refill?” A few fingers go up, and Jensen nods and disappears into the kitchenette for the beer run._

_“Extra hands?” Misha calls._

_“Wouldn’t hurt.” So Misha stands on shaky legs and tries to look confident as he joins Jensen at the fridge. With the door open, though, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “You OK?”_

_“Little caught-off guard is all,” Jensen mutters in reply._

_“Well, at least we’d have been drinking together. I wouldn’t have left you hanging, you know.”_

_“You think Jared knows?” He looks slightly more terrified than he ought to be, considering Jared’s his best friend, has been for years._

_“Do I think he knows what? That you choked yourself as a cover for the fact that we’re… wait. What are we?”_

_“Are we really doing this now?”_

_“Beer!” comes Sebastian’s impatient call from the living area. “You two fuckers are too fucking slow!”_

_Misha sighs. “We should talk about this.”_

_“Not. Now.”_

_“Not now, but later. Hey.” He puts his hand on Jensen’s shoulder the same way he’s done a thousand times on set. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong with you.”_

_“Says you.”_

_Jensen’s gone before Misha can respond._

 

“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful after you cum?”

Jensen’s chuckle comes from the bottom of his gut. “You couldn’t have done that before tonight.”

Misha gives that a beat of consideration. “True. It’s even _better_ than I’d imagined.” He returns to lazily skimming his fingertips over Jensen’s ribs on either side. “Your orgasmic face is a fucking work of art.” The pun catches them both and then Jensen’s laughing and rubbing his eyes, and Misha’s laughing into the skin of Jensen’s hip. He glances up and then, daringly, licks a single stripe up the underside of Jensen’s softening cock.

“Ugh, dude, again?”

Misha abandons the nether-region then in favor of laying on his side next to Jensen’s body, head propped up on one arm. His erection presses into Jensen’s hip, but he tries not to acknowledge that, or make any indication that he needs anything in return for his actions; he can always jerk off quick in the bathroom later, but he can never get this moment back, just laying here, stripped and relaxed and post-coital for the first time, with Jensen.

But Jensen notices, that’s obvious. He glances at Misha, a bit of apprehension returning to his eyes. Misha leans up to quell that with a thorough kiss, and Jensen lets him, at first; he relaxes a bit under Misha’s ministrations, but then he’s rolling and soon he’s the one on top, and Misha can’t bring himself to fight that. No reason to, really, he guesses, and it’s probably good for Jensen’s confidence besides, so he surrenders control of the kiss to his partner - _partner_ , fuck, it’s really real - and lets Jensen’s hands explore unabated. He’s so adorably hesitant and clumsy about it that Misha can’t help smiling. The touch feels fantastic, but under different circumstances he might consider it sadistic teasing the way Jensen’s touches don’t seem to follow a pattern and the only goal seems to be to touch Misha’s skin as much as possible, in as many places as possible, as quickly as he can.

“ _Jensen_ ,” he moans as the feather-light touch of Jensen’s fingers goes below his waist with the same idle curiosity, “That’s… you’re driving me…”

Jensen pops an eyebrow at him and stills entirely. He presses a flat palm to the inside of Misha’s left thigh and holds eye contact for as long as he possibly can. Then he ducks his head and, in the same experimental manner, swaths the head of Misha’s cock.

“Motherfuck,” Misha breathes, tilting his hips up, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Jen… you don’t have to… if you don’t want to do--that--but you gotta stop teasing me.” He manages a tight swallow as he feels Jensen’s fingers tickling at his balls. “I mean it, or I’m going to flip you over and break a thousand promises and fuck you because--fuck--”

There’s a breath of air over his genitals - and then the unmistakable warm wetness of a mouth around the head of his cock.

***

It’s not at all like Jensen had imagined.

The texture is spongy, and the taste is unpleasantly salty - that’s cum, Jensen knows, or precum anyway. It shouldn’t come as a surprise considering Misha’s been hard for quite a while; Jensen’s a dude, after all. He has one of these. He knows how the plumbing works, and he knows Misha’s got to be aching for a release. So he sucks on the head, and then tries to take more as Misha starts stroking his hair with encouraging fingers and making a deep rumbling sound that barely sounds human. It’s almost like he’s _purring_ , Jensen thinks, and that makes him smile and hum happily around his mouthful.

“ _God_ Jen. You sure you’ve never done this before?”

“Mmmm mmmm,” he intones. But the compliment boosts his confidence and he brings up his right hand to lightly tickle and fondle Misha’s balls.

The way Misha bucks and shouts is gratifying, but the bucking forces more of his erection into Jensen’s mouth than he’s ready for and he gags, much to his own chagrin. He pulls back, coughing, and looks down at Misha for a reaction.

Misha’s too far gone to give one.

He keeps kneading and playing with the sac as he takes in the mess he’s made of Misha Collins - head thrown back, eyes closed, chest heaving with each breath, and a string of unintelligible nonsense spilling from his beautiful lips mixed with the most beautiful whimpers he’s ever heard - and he smiles. _I did this_ , he thinks. _I did this, I made him feel this way, and it’s a_ good _thing_. And he dives back down with his mouth, pushing the awful taste to the back of his mind and letting go of every single memory that made getting here a slow, painful, angst-ridden process. He dedicates himself to the task of making Misha feel good, of bringing him to orgasm so he can see what that face really looks like when it’s floating in that bliss.

 

_“Do you want to experiment with him?”_

_“God, Dani. So much.”_

_“And he wants the same.”_

_“If the kiss he gave me last night was any indication, yeah.”_

_“So what’s the problem, then?”_

_“You know what the problem is.” He’s grateful to be able to have this conversation in her arms, in person, because he feels so vulnerable right now he’s not sure he could do it with any distance between them._

_“Jensen Ross Ackles, there is no problem but the one in your head. I know it’s been a tough haul to accept who you are. I know your mind is full of memories no person should be made to carry. But you… you are a beautiful, wonderful, gentle, loving, fantastic human being. And I’m your wife, and I love you. And I’m laying here with you in our bed, and I’m telling you to go get him, cowboy. Hey.” She cups his face in her hands and forces him to hold her gaze. “I. Love. You. All of you. And I find the idea of you doing the horizontal polka with Misha Collins incredibly hot. So when you get back to Vancouver, you two make plans. Play. Explore. And if I hear from Misha that you were morose or regretful about any of it, so help me I will kick your ass.”_

_Her smile and laugh are beautiful, and he loses himself in her at the conclusion of her speech. What he ever did in his life to deserve her, he’ll never know, but maybe it’s not worth worrying about - right now, or ever._

 

Misha’s right hand tightens in Jensen’s hair and he grits out a strangled warning. “‘M close, J. You might-- wanna--”

It ends a little more messily than maybe it would have if Jensen had any experience being on the “giving” end of a blow job. He pulls back a millisecond before Misha explodes, and the first spurt of white goo catches him on the chin and throat, and the rest on his chest, and that’s definitely another first, having another man’s cum on his body. But it’s not entirely unpleasant, he thinks, though the smell leaves as much to be desired as the taste. He wrinkles his nose and goes to grab the box of tissues from the nightstand. He’s watching Misha as he wipes himself up and smiles as he wonders if this is the beauty Misha had been talking about - the bliss of post-orgasmic relaxation that seems to have turned all of Misha into art.

It makes him giddy on the inside and he clambers back on top of Misha. A smile meets a smile and then Jensen’s kissing Misha with abandon, trying to make up for all of the kisses he’s wanted to give across the years. All of the kisses Misha deserves, really, because he’s fantastic and beautiful and wonderful.

“Easy, J. Easy. You’re gonna get me worked up again if you’re not careful.”

“Late calls tomorrow,” Jensen mumbles against Misha’s mouth, and the reply is a deep, warm chuckle into the same space, against the same skin. Misha nips at his bottom lip playfully, and Jensen responds in kind before swallowing any further arguments with a deep kiss. He can taste himself in Misha’s mouth, he realizes, but it’s just the right mix of Jensen and Misha and warmth that he can’t bring himself to care.

He gives a yelp of surprise and a laugh as Misha rolls them to reverse their positions and pins Jensen’s hands above his head - more forcefully than he had earlier, against the wall, because it’s clear all the barriers are gone and fuck, this feels so much better anyway - and lays into Jensen’s neck. “Dean Winchester might have a hickey tomorrow,” Misha growls, and sets to work sucking on Jensen’s collarbone.

“Plothole, whatever.” Fuck it. This is all he’s ever wanted. Bonus points for the great friendship and the fact that his wife wants to be there the first time they fuck. Bonus points for the knowing looks on set. Bonus points for pulling a fast one on Jared, together.

Bonus points for his fucking _life_.

And bonus points for Misha, who’s just slapped his ass as he tried to grind down against him. Fucking _all_ of the fucking bonus points for Misha, who brought him out of the shell, and gave him all of the reasons to be himself, because he cared enough. Because he was Misha enough. _Bonus points to Misha_ , he thinks, _for being the one to finally set me free_.  

**Author's Note:**

> Nu ti dayosh - An expression of surprise, roughly “Holy crap!”  
> B’lyad - Fuck  
> Eto piz`dets - This is fucked up  
> MIlaya Moyna - My Sweet  
> Ti takAya krasIvaya - You are so beautiful  
> Ti takAya nEzhnaya - You are so gentle  
> Lublu, celuyu, obozhayu. Vobshem prosto obozhayu. - I love, I kiss, I embrace. All in all I’m fascinated.


End file.
